Solid Links, Hollow Hearts
by Somber Joy
Summary: "You will know pain," Draco promised as he kissed her, his tears falling onto her own cheeks. "Know that I will harm you without pause if you provoke me to," he whispered to Hermione's swollen lips, his silver eyes piercing hers. "But remember, everything I do is for you Hermione." With one last gaze he raised his wand, ablaze beneath the crude torch light and let the curse fly.
1. Chapter 1: Unbidden Goodbyes

**Author's Note:**___This story is co-written with Hossyboy who is a very imaginative person that I couldn't write without. She has quite a few of her own stories so go check them out as well. This story is dark and fluff is nonexistent. Updating might be a little slow but it will happen eventually. Criticism welcome!_

_I heard an angel met a demon and that they fell in love,_

_But their story was cursed by forces from up above._

_So when you hear the story of the snake and the dove,_

_Be wary for its full of heart break, not love._

'One. Two. Three.'

Hermione struggled to keep her breathing even and her hands from trembling. While her mind enveloped in the coming task, her body revolted against every effort to continue on her commission.

'Four. Five. Six.'

Her heart pounded in defiance against its skeletal cage, and the palpitating thunder created a deafening rhythm against her ear-drums. Angst spread through her veins with the prickling sensation of ice. Her limbs were numb with the frost and movement became rigid as her mind swam into deeper waters. The counting wasn't helping to rid her of the dread drowning her being. Curse her luck!

'Seven. Eight. Nine.'

Minutes had already ticked past since she had first receded into the depths of her mind, trying to meditate. Still, memories fought their way to the surface and disturbed the calm she was struggling to keep, her body ignoring her insistent attempts for control.

Last night's nightmare was still fresh in her mind; the stench of burning bodies and the searing pain of fire on her skin far too real for imagination. Her nightmares were never really bad dreams, but horrifying memories that returned to haunt her sleep, stalk her when she couldn't defend herself from the long repressed sensations and sights.

Even now, the thought of those soulless eyes leering at her from behind steel masks struck a chord of fear buried deeply within her past.

She fought the chill creeping up her spine and tried to block the on slaughter of images that surged forward at the thought of those wicked beings. The Death Eaters, servants to the one whose name must not be spoken. Voldemort, the king of a kingdom twisted by black magic and stained by spilt blood, the one who had scarred Harry and sealed their fates.

Hermione was not ignorant, she knew she was an important piece in this chess game and so she had dedicated herself to ending Voldemort's tyrant rein. Never would a child watch as everything they'd ever known burned, their parents' body's ashes in the wind. No, never again. This was the reason for her determination to complete this mission.

Hermione started at the obnoxious rapping upon her door, her hand flying to the dagger hidden in a strap on her inner thigh, a natural reflex. Scolding herself, she forced her fingers to loosen their fierce grip on her blade before letting out a shaky breath to compose herself. She was currently beneath Hogwarts, hidden away in the labyrinth of tunnels inside a room that was more than less a decorated cave. It was the safest place to be since the over-throw yet she couldn't rid herself of her persistent paranoia.

"You may enter Ronald." Hermione said after a brief second passed. She recognized the newcomer by his aggressive knock and determined pacing. "Hello," she added as her good friend entered her quarters.

"Must you call me by my full name?" Ron groaned as he strode over to her, his broad face scrunched and tense as if he'd just caught scent of something foul. Whether it be his name or the situation, Hermione didn't know.

Most days, Ron would wear a goofy expression to lighten her face with a smile, but they were both too far into a dark and bitter mood. Today's cloudy forecast dampened any chance of sunshine.

"What do you need Ron?" Hermione sighed curtly, her words short and her tone clipped. Ronald seemed to have sensed the storm clouds and cut to the chase before they could turn deadly and crackle with lightening.

"You've been summoned; the council will be ready soon." Ron answered, his voice taking on an unusually serious tone for the jokester.

"Has Harry arrived yet?" Hermione inquired as her brown eyes finally rose to meet Ron's. Resting in his irises, she found the reason she hadn't looked to him in the first place. A troubled look resided in the redhead's features, showing a vulnerable side of her headstrong friend.

"No, but Hedwig is already here so he should be soon. He couldn't depart until nightfall in case someone saw Buckbeak." Hermione nodded, understanding completely. These days, magical creatures were quickly going extinct due to the Death Eaters, who often enjoyed terrorizing them and razing the forestry to a barren crisp. Also, to be caught with such a creature was a crime punishable by death.

"Thank you Ron. I'll be ready shortly," Hermione finished as she turned away to face her makeshift basin, expecting Ron to depart.

"'Mione don't do this." Ron's voice drifted back to her, much softer than before. "I don't know why you are so determined to do this but leave it to someone who knows what they're doing." A sudden bout of anger sprang from Hermione and she branded a scorching glare onto her friend.

"You know why I have to do this." Hermione hissed. "We can't risk anymore spies dying and unlike a spy I know how to defend myself rather than simply faking an act. Plus Ron, you know females are in high demand."

"Well, Luna's a female," Ron childishly protested, earning him a raised eyebrow and pointed look that left his ears burning a dark shade of maroon. Hermione knew he wasn't seriously considering putting her in harms' way. His emotions simply shrouded his judgment and Luna was the first female to come into mind besides herself and Ginny, ever since Lavender died.

"Yes and we both know of her current state of mind. She is much too weak to go through with something like this." Hermione scolded quietly. Her vexation towards the Weasley quickly subsided - she never could stay angry with him long.

"Have you lost your pride?" His tone was accusing and again her temper got the best of her.

"No, but if I must I would adhere to it." Hermione's tone was sharp and cutting. "This is what is expected of me. I have a destiny to fill just as you do; we cannot escape our fate. No one can. This isn't just about us Ron, we're fighting for all of those who can't and for those who died trying."

"This is bloody bogus!" Ron shouted and Hermione forced herself not to flinch, she had always hated it when Harry or Ron began yelling. The redhead began to pace the span of her floor, beginning at her door then stomping towards the foot of her bed. Finally, Ron stopped before her and looked almost beseechingly into her eyes, his hands grasping her own. "Please. Hermione don't do this." Ron whispered, his voice barely audible in the suddenly suffocating room.

Shocked into silence by his sudden change, Hermione could only stare, agape, her eyes searching the vast depths of one of her closest friend's eyes. "Stay here. Guide and inform, stay and do what you do best Hermione. Stay and keep us out of trouble." Ron finished his eyes wide and imploring yet determined and adamant.

If only life was different. If only they could live in the past, where worries were but trivial matters.

"No, I'm not just going to stand around when I know this mission is meant for me." Hermione whispered, but it seemed like a shout in the quiet room.

Color drained from Ron's already pale face and his lips parted as he formed a protest. Hermione quickly cut him off. "Leave me Ron, just leave me be." Her voice was pleading now and the defeat in her friend's drooping face informed her she'd won for now.

Quietly, Ron rose and slowly departed, his silence twisting in Hermione's stomach and ripping at her innards. She feared that the sinking bitterness instilling itself between them deepened with every step he took towards the door. She could almost see it eroding their already rocky friendship. It had been so long since they had last laughed together as friends and a chilling fear rooted itself in her, she knew that if he walked out of those doors without another word passing between them they might never speak again.

"Ron!" The redhead stiffened his hand mid-turn on the door knob; he didn't look towards her but he didn't leave either so she pressed on. "We all know between me and the other girls I've always been the better actress. You know, with all my dramatic phases of yelling every other minute and the dropping of my sobriety here and there. Anyways, Luna would be condemned just for being fixated upon the Wrackspurts all of the Death Eaters would surely have." Hermione jeered, hoping that Ron's ears skipped over the desperation in her voice.

For a moment, silence was once again ubiquitous, then a tremor passed through Ron's broad shoulders and she recognized the sound of his stifled laughter. A smile touched her own lips at the realization and she couldn't help the small laughter bubbling up in her own throat.

For a moment they both laughed and then Ron peeked at her over his shoulder and the silence descended once more, their eyes locking together, gazes entangled.

"See you 'Mione." Ron chuckled sadly before disappearing out of the door, leaving her to stare at the place he'd occupied. With a sigh she relaxed once more and let her head roll back, her eyes becoming enticed by the packed rock of her roof.

x

"Hermione are you in there?" Hermione's heart leapt into her throat at the familiar voice and she was on her feet in the blink of an eye. She must have nodded off again!

"Harry!" Hermione cried as she pulled open the door to reveal a dark haired man with a small but warm smile. Quickly she pulled him into a fierce hug. "You made it!" She breathed, not caring enough to hide the relieved tremor in her voice.

"'Course I did Hermione." Harry replied blandly and instantly Hermione's insides twisted, so he was upset as well. She guessed it was to be expected, after all these were her two best friends she was speaking of.

Slowly, as if a hasty movement might stir up a simmering anger in Harry, Hermione pulled away from their embrace with a small frown. Mint roamed over sable and for a moment Hermione got the childish feeling that she was exposed, that Harry's piercing eyes could see straight through her attempts of concealing her fears. Hastily, she brushed it off and searched his placid green eyes with as much intensity as Harry was searching hers.

Moments silently walked by before Harry relinquished, visibly relaxing into a slumped posture. Even when slouching he was taller than her, when had he grown and why hadn't she noticed it before? She also relaxed before taking a step backwards to allow Harry room to enter. He didn't and shook his head slowly at the invitation.

"The council is ready, they're waiting on us." Harry added with a slim smile that never reached his eyes.

"Ah yes, then may I walk with you?" Hermione questioned, stepping back into the doorway.

"If you wish." Harry teased, only his tone was bitter and she could tell from his involuntary flinch he hadn't meant for it to sound so hateful. That was Harry, always trying to keep the mood light even if he was uncomfortable. It just wouldn't be Harry if he didn't do so, that's what she loved about her dearest friend, his selflessness and massive heart.

"Of course I do." Was all Hermione could say, even as better words tumbled around in her mind in a confused jumble. They both shared a diminutive smile before beginning down the tunnel, just broad enough for them to walk side by side without touching.

That's how they walked for a few minutes, shoulder to shoulder in complete silence. Finally after struggling for a topic of discussion Hermione resorted to one of Harry's soft spots.

"How's Buckbeak?" Hermione questioned. Immediately Harry's face lit up with a delighted smile and Hermione internally sighed in relief.

"He's doing great! He's able to travel long distances with two people on his back now and he covers ground so fast. I can't not be proud." Harry chuckled to himself and Hermione smiled at her friend's unbridled love for the mythical beast. "You can visit him after the meeting if you want, I don't mind taking you." Harry added just as excitedly, his bright emerald eyes glimmering with delight.

"That sounds delightful." Hermione agreed and was discouraged when silence slid over them again like a heavy shadow. Their eyes fell away from each other and Hermione stared at the passing wall beside her with an awkward intensity.

"Hey wait up!" A shout thundered down the hall, resounding off the rounded stone like a thousand voices speaking at once. Both Harry and Hermione nearly leapt from their skin, both of their hearts racing in fright. Before Hermione even had time to collect herself a flash of red and a gleaming smile caught her attention.

"Ginny!" Hermione cried, her eyes wide and pupils dilated with shock. "Goodness you scared me!"

"Hey Hermione! Hey Harry! I'm sorry!" The spirited redhead returned, mistaking Hermione's outburst for a greeting. "Your both on your way to the meeting, am I correct?"

"Y-yes." Harry got out, fighting around the lump in his throat.

"Do you mind if I join you?" Ginny asked, turning to look at Hermione with her sweet honey-colored eyes.

"Of course not." Hermione answered and tried her best to smile sweetly. She found it hard to look at Ginny, knowing the Weasley had not heard of her mission.

"Great." Ginny grinned and turned to continue down the corridor, leaving Hermione and Harry to follow after her stunned. Again they continued in silence until they all reached the council room's magically ornate doors. This was one of the many dents of the tunnels like her room and the others' that with a little magic, were anything but dirt and stone.

Ginny fearlessly grabbed the left and pulled it open, striding in as if she deserved to. Harry and Hermione following silently after.

_Here we go_, Hermione thought.


	2. Chapter 2: Asphyxiation

"Bloody hell! Why is anyone even agreeing to this plan?" Ron breathed vehemently. "We can't send her right into Hell's dominion!"

"He's right! This is Hermione we're talking about! Everyone's friend." Ginny agreed with her brother. It would be immoral to send a friend, so cherished by everyone, right into a death trap just so the Order could have the possibility of playing a better hand in this messed up game.

"Silence!" McGonagall snapped, her scowl leaping between the two youngest Weasleys.

"But –" Ron began only to be cut off by the irritated Professor.

"Not another word Ronald Weasley." She hissed. Hermione pictured her wearing whiskers like the ones her animagus adorned. Unluckily, this did little to lighten her mood as McGonagall continued scolding her friends.

"You are not a part of the Council, so while your feelings towards this matter are sympathized with, you have no final say."

"This is her LIFE we are discussing! How can her friends have no say in the finalities of this when the Order looks towards her sacrifice as a possible gain, rather than a possible loss of life?!" Harry shouted, not only to defend Ron and Ginny's outburst but also to grab Hermione's attention. More sincerely, Harry turned towards Hermione and spoke, "'Mione, you don't have to be a hero. Not like this."

"Harry…" Hermione whispered.

She didn't have any words to say, for if she were to defend her decision, her friends would continue to argue back. While it seemed like a crazy thing to volunteer for and to even think up, posing as a slave was the best chance the Order would have to gain information. As the only Muggleborn of the group, Hermione would be desired the most by Death Eaters closest to Voldemort's feet, knowing that she is a friend of the boy who lived.

She couldn't believe this was what it came to, thinking of doing such an act that would surely scar her if she got out alive. This was reality, however. She wasn't going to let someone else die while she was being sheltered because she had more people who cared about her. Everyone is in this war, and she isn't going to just sit back and watch as she stays safe from the blood shedding.

Silence reigned for a few tense moments until Dumbledore broke the sullenness.

"Well, may we continue?" The old headmaster glazed over the group of faces before him, stopping on the golden trio that was becoming tinged with bronze.

"On the matter of Mr. Potter's claims that the Order's intentions lie within simply gathering information without concern for Miss Granger's welfare, you are gravely mistaken. The Order values the lives of others to the last breath of our own existence. Everyone here is bonded by a common purpose, yes, but we are also bounded by the compassion that flows between all of our spirits. We are aware Miss Granger would be putting her life in danger, but she has spoken privately with the Council and has discussed her plans in great detail. Including the horrors she realizes she shall have to witness and unfortunately, most likely, be a victim to. None of us enjoy even the thought of her volunteering, but we have all volunteered to fight this evil. For if we didn't we would be allowing Voldemort to take from us our strength. Our freedom."

The only sound in the heavy air was the soft breathing of the Order members. Their breath mingled with the floating clouds of dust, ubiquitous in the room. Hermione didn't want to exhale, for fear everyone would notice how her breath would waver in the air. She didn't want to be the center of attention, especially since the matter at hand was the perfect catalyst for pity. She didn't want to be pitied by her friends. She didn't want them to believe she volunteered for this position to show her worth.

Perhaps it wasn't pity, but fear. They were scared she would fail and in this case, failure meant inevitable death. She wanted them to support her decision; to be her strength. She wasn't going to let this go. It was high time she aided everyone in the effort to end this war. Not simply by her knowledge and eloquence, but by her actions.

Hermione looked around the table at all of the people she held so dear to her heart. The people she would be leaving to gain insight that could save their world. Harry was to her left, his glasses askew on the bridge of his nose and threatening to slip at any moment. His hair had grown in tangles and knots, ignorant to how menacing it appeared. His eyes were sad, she could tell, and the sorrow was highlighted by his troubled frown.

Ron was to her right and his soulful blue orbs were staring into the distance. Hermione knew he was purposefully looking away for fear he would break into angry shouts if he so much as glanced at her. She desperately wished to know what his eyes were seeing. Was it her possible death he was gazing into? There was nothing she could say to stop him from worrying. Hopefully if she was to die, which was likely, he would let go or gain the strength to fight back harder than ever before.

Ginny was sourly glaring at her from Ron's side. Her wrathful expression made the trademark Weasley hair flare crimson. Near her were the mischievous twins. Their hair had been trimmed recently and despite the weight of the air, their eyes glowed with the same light impish charm everyone knew them to have.

Sirius and Remus were whispering something lightly. Harry was lucky not to lose his Godfather in the raid on the Donahue house last month, but many others unfortunately lost someone that night. Mad-Eye Moody sacrificed himself for Luna's life while Neville did the same. However, the curse that hit Neville wasn't fatal, but crippling. Luna was so distraught that her normally loquacious-self became mute. Many believe it was because of what had happened to her, prior to her rescue, but Hermione felt like it was solely for Neville's state of being. Like many others in situations similar, she blamed herself for what had happened.

Lupin had lost his beloved Tonks, and with her, their son to be. This was the tragedy that everyone felt was the most traumatic. A man losing, not only his wife, but his unborn son. They had already planned to name him Teddy. He was no longer the strong, wise man he was when Hermione first met him. The light behind his eyes had been blown out; only the smoke was left to cloud his judgment. Of course he had many reasons to break before the incident, such as his struggle with being a Werewolf, but the death of his only family was the killing blow. Lupin was often covered by a blanket of melancholy. Sirius was always by his side, urging him to unwrap himself but only time could tell when he was going to leave the sorrow behind.

Mrs. Weasley was in the place of Mr. Weasley. Currently, Ron's father was lying in bed in a critical state. Still, everyone was hopeful that the curse Rudolph Lestrange threw at him wouldn't turn out to be fatal in the end. Molly's hair was static and her expression held the motherly worry she always wore.

Bill and Fleur were near her and both appeared to be arguing heatedly. Fleur's face was flushed and she sat deathly sill staring down at the table while Bill was spitting opinionated whispers at her. Hermione knew Fleur's family were Purebloods and wondered if their conversation had something to do with them. Fleur's owls to her sister had stopped months ago; she must be handling the broken connection harshly.

Kingsley Shacklebolt sat further down the table towards Dumbledore and was conversing with two men and a woman Hermione didn't recognize. However, she knew Dumbledore to trust them so she didn't question their presence.

The council was filled with some of Hermione's dearest companions. She tried to imagine them in her situation and herself in theirs. Would she support Harry or Ron if they requested to be sent into the snake's den? Of course not. No one would support such a ridiculous idea. It was murder.

A cold sweat broke out over her skin as she confirmed her answer. No. She wouldn't allow such a thing to occur. She only hoped they would be less selfish than her and give her their support to carry out her mission. It was already decided in her mind.

"Both Remus and I believe it is the best plan we have and support Hermione's decision." Sirius sighed, and his eyes found anchor within her own. His ebony gaze smoldered like charcoal against her own chocolate iris' and she felt like she was melting. Much like a piece of chocolate ready to be smacked in between graham crackers and plastered to a marshmallow to be consumed – never having a chance for escape in the first place.

A motion at her side caught her attention and she shifted her gaze on to Harry, the betrayal caused by his Godfather painted across his face. She worriedly returned her sight to Sirius to find he was avoiding Harry's eyes. It was shocking to know Sirius would go against Harry, but from what she had learned from his character over the years, it wasn't all that surprising.

"Well then, I guess everything's set. Hermione's going to be a slave." Luna whispered. Everyone focused on the mystical blond, mouths agape at hearing her voice after so long. Her notes hung high in the air and no one disturbed the following silence.

Hermione wasn't going to cry. She needed to show everyone she could do this. She wouldn't let them see her despair. So, she closed her eyes and began counting for control of her emotions; for control of her sanity…

One. Two. Three.


	3. Chapter 3: To the Highest Bidder!

**Author's Note: **_Here's the next chapter! I find it more exciting than the last two, so let's see if you agree. As always, constructive commentary is highly appreciated. Poetry by Hossyboy._

_In the bed of snakes I reside_

_Not a snake myself_

_Yet little fangs I hide_

An abrupt kick to the cage bars brought Hermione from her uneasy slumber. Out of the corner of her blurred sight was a dark stout figure. She tried to rise from her fetal position but her body refused to obey her mind's orders to arise and face the stranger, however, and she was met with a grave consequence. A few muted words fell onto her numbed ears and she felt her nerves flare in fire straight from the Devil's finger tips. She was slowly burning into ashes that the wind would catch and scatter.

It was the infamous Cruciatus Curse; the cauterizing pain unlike no other. While this wasn't the first time she experienced it, every time the misery seemed to be more agonizing as the flames licked at her repeatedly. As she felt the agony simmer down and become a subtle flicker, she opened her eyes slightly to see if fire was still blistering her skin. There was no blaze to be found; the scorching torment was attacking her nerve endings, which explained the convulsions and the inescapable, inextinguishable burning.

Hermione's ears desperately tried to adjust to the obscure sounds around her. Faint cries and screams escalated in volume until her ears were ringing with the cacophony. Her vision was becoming clearer and the sight of her surroundings was horrific. Girls her age and younger were being crudely yanked out of their cages to an awaiting crowd. There were numbers being shouted and money being exchanged. An icy splash of realization hit her: this was a slave auction.

She knew going undercover as a slave would be difficult, but she wasn't prepared to be auctioned off as some piece of merchandise. Every girl was being treated as an object and handled forcefully as if they were easy to replace. There were barely any men in shackles, only the elderly that Hermione doubted would be sold – for a female had many more uses than a man. She scrunched her face in disgust and just as quickly it unraveled into fear as a greasy, bearded man with a crooked grin began to unlock the cage.

"Get up and move you bloody Mudblood," the man vehemently spit. Hermione could barely move a muscle before the man pulled her by her arm roughly and threw her out of the carriage. Her body collided with the stinging cold mixture of snow fall and mud. Her arms attempted to push her body up, but she was forced down by the weight of a girl tumbling onto her back. Hermione heard the poor girl screech as another slave handler kicked her in the abdomen before dragging her up by her tangled ebony hair. She was soon to follow as the same bearded man gripped her arm hard enough to bruise and carelessly shoved her into line.

Hermione along with the other captured women and girls were shuffled and forced up splintered wood to a stage that seemed to have borne witness to one too many auctions before. She imagined the thawing snow that splattered upon the wood to be the tears of the people unlucky enough to be enslaved. The drops of despair stained the old pine, as if to tell the group that they weren't the first to fall victim to this tragedy.

Indeed, many of the girls around Hermione were quivering with bouts of uncontrollable melancholy. Evidence being the streams of sadness coating their flushed cheeks. The raven-haired girl that Hermione had trailed behind had a look of hopelessness piercing her green eyes. No tears fell from these emeralds, however, and she appeared to simply accept her fate. Hermione was sickened by the thought of accepting an existence of slavery, but quickly removed the thought with a realization. How can anyone find faith when it had seemingly been obliterated long ago? Acceptance meant survival, for rebelling was punishable by torture or death. Accepting death would be the easiest option, but that meant you were nothing more than a coward.

Again, Hermione glanced at the girl but with a sense of respect for her courage to face the inevitable. She became aware of the piercing gaze of many eyes on her and turned her attention to the buyers.

Many were unrecognizable, but were impeccably adorned with the common black and silver of Death Eater attire. She hoped she would be bought by someone close in ranks to the Dark Lord, but none of these ominous faces appeared significant enough. In fact, most of the crowd's faces were cloaked by mercury masks representing countless emotions unspoken for. Hermione guessed those wearing masks had a more crucial identity than those naked of clandestine faces.

Looking to her side as she picked herself up on wobbly and bruised legs, she counted twelve girls in total. On her right was the girl who had fallen on her in the mud. In closer inspection Hermione guessed she was around her age, eighteen or nineteen, maybe older by a year or two. She looked like she had once been a beauty, but the mistreatment of slavery was obviously etched over her body. Scars, welts, bruises, and various wounds were visible where her robe was torn. Hermione shuddered at the thought of what was underneath and looked way was the auction commenced.

A sea of eyes washed over her and the other girls, as if to cleanse away the grime that coated all of their bare skin and see if any qualities were left worth buying. A man, scrawny in physique and coated in dark layers of robes seemingly too heavy for him, walked to the middle of the stage. With a small whisper, he put the tip of his wand against his throat and spoke in a booming voice.

"Welcome to today's auction! Today we have twelve girls for auction. A fine set indeed. Let us start from the left."

Motioning to one of the men that drove the carriages, the auctioneer smiled wickedly as the girl first in line whimpered in response to being pushed forward.

"If you've come to one of my auctions before you know that names are redundant concerning merchandise. Each girl will be given a number, I ask that you bid corresponding to the number you like."

Hermione couldn't help but cringe in disgust. Numbers? That's it. That's all she was now. She was Number Five in fact.

"Number One is a well-rounded slave, serviced for two years and obedient. She's an excellent item for sale. Plus, how can you resist that flaming hair?" As the auctioneer spoke, the carriage man began to rotate the girl. Even from her spot in line Hermione could see the sparkle of unshed tears in the girl's wide, frightened eyes.

"Now, let's start the bidding at 300 galleons. I'm taking 300 galleons on the redhead here, 300 galleons!" The auctioneer's voice reminded Hermione of river rapids, loud and over-running itself.

"You sir!" The auctioneer broke off suddenly from his babbling to shout, his skeleton-like finger aiming at a single Death Eater in the crowd. He wore expensive looking robes, like most of those masked, and had many rings surrounding his gloved fingers.

"You sir, for 300 galleons! Anyone else? Number One will be sure to work hard! Anyone else for 310 galleons?!"

The auctioneer's voice drifted away from Hermione as she watched the Death Eater who had bid. The large, virile hand gripping the wand that shot the bidding flare sank down against his robes. Maybe it was just her imagination, but Hermione swore his mask twisted towards her as if in recognition. Her racing heart sputtered to a stop as gleaming eyes met her own.

"SOLD for 300 galleons!" In an instant the connection was broken by the fast-paced voice of the seller. "Now onto Number Two!"

Hermione could no longer focus on anything other than the steely eyes that had glowered at her through the mask. Did he know of her identity? Only those close to Voldemort would focus on more than just Harry Potter's face, for friends of the golden boy could be used as a lure or bait for information.

"Number Four here is a lovely lady."

Hermione was shaken from her thoughts as the bear of a man from the carriage jarred into her on his way towards the raven-haired girl at her side.

"She's got lovely looks for a mudblood and four years of service under her belt." The girl's hair was roughly moved from her face to expose her fragile looking features. A long slim nose, high cheekbones and sunken green eyes. She was definitely beautiful long ago, but was now a broken porcelain doll.

Her bidding started at 500 galleons and went up to 700 galleons, bought by the same mysterious man who had bought Number One. Now it was Hermione's turn. The bulky bruiser came over to her and pushed her forward as if to put her in the center of a spot light.

"Number Five! Or should I say Hermione Granger? To those of you who only know her by name, her reputation exceeds her as the Mudblood friend of Harry Potter!" The auctioneer spit Harry's name out with venom while the crowd broke into a series of gasps and inaudible murmurs. Many figures huddled together, talking in hushed voices. Most of the voices couldn't be matched to a face, but only a mask.

"I'll start the bidding at 1000 galleons! Do I have 1000 galleons?"

Throughout the crowd, bidding flares sparked up simultaneously. "1100 galleons!"

"1500 galleons!"

"I'll take her for 2000 galleons."

"10,000 galleons." The crowd went silent. Not a voice challenged the bid but snarls of forfeit were evident among many who had tried to buy her. Hermione strained to see who this bid belonged to and her eyes scanned the flares until all diminished but the hue of blue belonging to the wand of the man she had locked eyes with previously. His mask gleamed more forbiddingly than before as her future reflected back to her.

The rest of the auctions went by quickly as her focus never left the man who had bought her. At the end, Hermione and the raven-haired girl were escorted, or really, shuffled with Number One to the man who had bought them.

His carriage was lavishly designed with a Gothic exterior of sharp, dark edges and spired curves. The door was an ominous welcoming gate to oblivion. Snakes slithered around the edge of the door before forming a handle, still animated, although formed of dark iron.

The masked man spoke icily to his servant as he approached the carriage.

"Bring them to the house, bathe their superficial filth from their bodies, hand them over to Gretta and have her break them in. Except for Miss Granger here. Give her to my son."

With an instant, the billowing of his cloak and the smoky residue of his disapparation signaled his leave. The servant yanked open the carriage door and grabbed the redhead by her hair.

"Get in there ye mutt!" Although her distressed moans were evident of the pain she was experiencing, she begrudgingly fell into the carriage. Next was Number Four, the dark-haired skeleton, much in the same painful manner.

No matter how much you believe you prepare yourself for pain, there is no lessening the degree in which you experience. There is only hopes of increasing your resiliency and endurance.

However, the servant surprised Hermione by simply grabbing her wrist, albeit viciously, but lacking discomfort.

He grinned crookedly, "The master wants his gift to be intact. Mmmmm yes. Much more fun for breaking when it's new." With his last word he shoved Hermione in and promptly slammed the door closed. His heavy footfall was muffled but could still be heard rising onto the driver's seat. With a magical click, the doors were locked and the sides of the carriage sizzled with an abrasive barrier spell. The gallop of the horses indicated the beginning of the girls' journey to Hell.

_Oh Merlin, why am I a "gift"? _Hermione thought fearfully.

The interior of the carriage was lightless, and as somber as the exterior. Black leather decorated every inch of the seats and walls, but this luxury wasn't the least bit comforting. Windows were placed on the top edges of the carriage and were opaque in color. Little light fell inside and no eyes could peer outside; a teasing sense of false freedom.

Hermione could hear a sniffle and looked towards the red-haired girl.

She wore dirty rags and muck coated her skin. Many of the dark blotches spotting her skin seemed to be bruises rather than dirt, Hermione thought sadly. Her red hair which must have been a wave of curls was now a tangled mess of knots and filthy clumps. Her face was hidden by her smudged hands but Hermione remembered the small heart-shaped face from seeing it before while they had waited in line.

Soon sniffles became choked sobs that made her stomach churn, would she become a broken object just as this person before her after her time as a slave? No! She refused to let them break her mind, her body was theirs to torture but her mind was her own and no matter how much they tried to take from her she would never allow them to ruin her! With renewed determination Hermione reverted her eyes from the redhead.

"Don't cry." Came a gentle command, carried on by a voice that was both reassuring and insistent.

Surprised, Hermione turned back towards the other girls, her eyes falling on the skeleton-like girl who hadn't moved since the beginning of their trip. The redhead had since revealed her face to stare, stunned at the raven haired girl.

For many moments, they sat like that, Hermione watching the both of them. The redhead staring silently and the gaunt skeleton entranced with the ebony floor of the carriage. Finally, the dark haired girl lifted her eyes to meet the redheads and a whisper of a smile seemed to touch her colorless lips.

"My name is Veda. What is yours?" Goosebumps rose on Hermione's skin as she listened to the girl named Veda, her voice flat and strained but tinged with a lost accent Hermione couldn't place. It was as if this was the first time she'd spoke in years. The redhead seemed equally disturbed by Veda but quickly regained herself.

"M-my name is Elsie." Veda smiled again, a little broader this time and Elsie slowly returned it with one of her own.

"Don't cry Elsie, ever again. They take enjoyment from it. It just encourages them to hurt you. So, don't ever let them see your tears. Don't ever cry." Veda whispered and Hermione listened, stunned by the piece of morbid advice. What had this poor girl been through to realize something so dark? Hermione felt like vomiting.

Elsie's face visibly paled and the short girl sat back as she processed that information. A gloomy atmosphere resided over the small group and no one spoke again. For that, Hermione was thankful.

The bumps of the rugged terrain made it hard for Hermione to compose herself before coming face to face with her future.

She began to reflect on the days prior to the present…

The plan was simple in context: get caught by a Death Eater, be sold to another Death Eater, gather information of the Dark Lord's motives, report back to the Order, then hatch an escape plan. Yet the specific aspects binding the plan together shed no ounce of simplicity. In order to be caught, Hermione took Polyjuice potion to disguise herself long enough to travel to the middle of Diagon Alley. What better place to go to be captured?

However, every movement in and out of almost every major wizarding intersection was monitored by Death Eaters. The hardest part of sliding past them was getting past the blood tests. Ironically borrowed from the Muggle method, the blood test was tweaked magically to test the properties of a wizard or witch's heredity with the flick of a wand. The palm of the hand would be sliced open using a laceration spell, then drained into a basin to be tested.

Of course, Hermione wouldn't pass this test as a Pureblood, so two of the testers were "replaced" by Ron and Harry. This was the last time she saw them. No goodbye, not even a smile of the faces she knew but simply saddened frowns of polymorphic figures. Once she was in, she lingered in stores, timing her Polyjuice until it was close to wearing off and planted herself in an Alchemy shop full of herbs and flasks of potions. Once her identity was revealed and her hands were bound by Death Eaters she was interrogated and tortured for information. Her backstory was that she was trying to sneak herbs for a potion that could cure Neville Longbottom's life.

Knowing Hermione might fall victim to Veritaserum, which is no longer strictly controlled by the Ministry, she was given the antidote beforehand. While Veritaserum is difficult to make and must mature through a lunar phase, the antidote takes even longer to produce with ingredients that are a scarcity. This made it possible to avoid suspicion of giving inaccurate truth during the interrogation process. Kingsley, as the short-term minister before Voldemort's forces overpowered the Ministry, had access to the truth serum supply as well as the antidote which consisted of a few bottles. The supply was mostly destroyed but Kingsley scrapped out a few drops of the antidote before the overthrow.

Combatting the serum with the antidote wouldn't be a lasting solution. Hermione and many Order members were trained in Occulumency and Legilimency, but few were successful in training. Harry still lacked in his mental defenses, in fact. Hermione fortunately excelled in Occulumeny which would make her mission more protected. However, parts of the plan such as the faces, the places, and the dates of who, where, and when she discussed it were obliviated from her mind for security. She knew of what she was to do, but the why and for who lacked specificity.

Everything worth reporting back to the Order would need to be sent immediately. The "how" was the tricky part. She couldn't meet with anyone or simply owl the Order. It was… someone, who thought of the method to report the information, similar to how Tom Riddle's diary worked. A self-inking quill, enchanted by… who was it? Well, anyways, it would allow a message written on any piece of parchment to be sent to the Order. An amazing enchantment but deadly if discovered by the wrong crowd. This quill was currently embedded under the skin at Hermione's hip. Getting it out will be an agonizing process. Hermione visibly cringed.

She was brought back to her new reality as a soft voice spoke in response to the abrupt stop of the carriage.

"I think we're here."

In an instant, the door of the carriage opened and allowed a blinding abundance of light and frost to pierce the girls' skin. Their bodies moved involuntarily as an Imperio took control.

"Quickly, out!" Spitted a sharp feminine voice.

Ice struck the bare feet of the girls' with a caustic shock. Their eyes met an elegant, dark blonde.

Narcissa Malfoy.

Hermione looked past her and laid her eyes on the manor looming above her.

This was the Malfoys' residence.

Uncontrollable tremors gripped Hermione's body. _What have I gotten myself into?_ She thought despairingly.

..Four. Five. Six.

**Questions!**

_Who is your personal favorite HP character?_

_Which character death in the series was the saddest for you?_

_Pertaining to this story, do you think Hermione's plan will unfold?_

_Will Hermione be discovered as a spy? If you think so, by whom?_

_Can Hossy and I get more evil and dark? (Yes, the answer to that is yes indeed._ _**Muahaha!**__)_


End file.
